National Baseball League

[jg2977]

It was a crisp autumn afternoon deep in the heart of Texas — the kind of day tailor-made for October baseball. Under a cloudless sky and before more than 47,000 fans in Arlington, the Texas Rangers took care of business. With a 5–3 win over the Baltimore Orioles, they not only swept their Wild Card Series, but earned themselves a date with the Cleveland Indians in the Division Series.
The story today was one of execution, patience, and a touch of power. Jon Tucker, steady and unflappable, gave the Rangers exactly what they needed — five and a third innings, seven strikeouts, and the poise of a man who refused to let the moment grow too large. His fastball had late life, his breaking stuff just enough bite to keep the Orioles guessing.
At the plate, it was Matt Adams — the quiet cornerstone of this Texas lineup — who again set the tone. Three runs driven in, a pair of doubles, and an MVP performance that seemed to capture everything about how this team has played down the stretch: not flashy, not overwhelming, but perfectly efficient.
And then there was the rookie shortstop, Nate Schwab — whose solo home run in the fourth was a line-drive laser into the left-field seats, a punctuation mark on a breakout postseason debut. Around him, the Rangers did all the little things right: a double play here, a stolen base there, just enough defense to hold Baltimore at arm’s length.
For the Orioles, it was a valiant effort. D. Findley’s ninth-inning home run brought a spark of life to a team that refused to quit. But the hole was too deep, the Rangers too disciplined. Baltimore’s season ends where so many young teams do — not with failure, but with a glimpse of what might yet be.
And so it’s Texas who moves on — the unlikely division winner now stepping into the bright lights of the Division Series. Their next challenge? The 100-win Cleveland Indians, rested, tested, and ready. But for now, on this October day in Arlington, the Rangers can exhale and savor the moment.
Baseball, after all, is about timing — and right now, Texas has found theirs.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

It was a clear October afternoon at Kauffman Stadium, the kind of day where baseball feels at once timeless and immediate. The stakes were simple, yet profound: Oakland and Kansas City, tied 1-1 in the Wild Card Series, each looking for a measure of control, a sliver of momentum that could carry them into tomorrow.
And it was Gabriel Meyer, the Athletics’ shortstop, who provided that momentum — two towering home runs, three RBIs, two runs scored, and enough authority at the plate to leave no doubt that Oakland would not leave Kansas City with anything less than a win. His first came in the fourth inning with one out, a two-run shot off Rickey Doll that propelled the Athletics ahead. The second, in the sixth, added insurance and punctuated a day in which Meyer seemed to embody both power and poise.
On the mound, Chris Anderson was equally commanding. Seven and two-thirds innings, six hits, just one earned run, and six strikeouts — a masterful performance in a high-pressure spot. When he finally handed the ball over to A. Hernandez to close it out, Oakland had seized the day, forcing a decisive Game 3 in this best-of-three series.
Kansas City, for their part, showed flashes — O. Vargas with a solo home run in the fourth, I. Martinez with a timely RBI — but ultimately, the Athletics’ combination of power and pitching proved too much.
In October, of course, every swing and every pitch carries weight far beyond its immediate result. And today, Oakland made it clear: momentum belongs to them. Tomorrow, under the Kansas City sky, we will see who can carry it forward. But for now, it’s Meyer and the Athletics who have written the second chapter.

[jg2977]

Well, what we witnessed at Citi Field today was baseball in its most merciless, unpredictable form—a harsh reminder that no lead is safe, no outcome certain, and that even the most storied franchises can be humbled in a heartbeat. The three-time defending champion Mets, who had built their identity on late-inning resolve, found themselves on the wrong side of the script.
They were up by two in the ninth inning, nobody on base, one out away from closing out the Reds and asserting their dynasty. And yet, in the cruel theater of postseason baseball, a single followed by a home run tied the game, sending it to extra innings. In the top of the 10th, Cincinnati—driven by the timely, thunderous bat of Jamie Puckett, who went 3-for-5 with a home run, triple, and double—exploded for five runs, leaving the Mets reeling and the series tied at one.
Ruben Soto’s run-scoring single proved decisive, the kind of moment that separates regular-season narratives from playoff legend. And now, tomorrow, the Mets will have their backs to the wall, facing the kind of pressure that tests not just skill but character, resolve, and the very essence of a championship pedigree.
This is October baseball at its rawest: beautiful, brutal, and utterly captivating. The story isn’t over—far from it—but today, the Reds reminded us why the postseason is the ultimate stage, where even the mighty can stumble and the underdog can roar.

[jg2977]

Tonight at Dodger Stadium, the Los Angeles Dodgers added another chapter to their postseason frustrations. A franchise that has dazzled in the regular season yet again found itself unable to translate that success into October triumph.
The Arizona Diamondbacks, opportunistic and precise, completed a two-game sweep with a 2-0 win, punching their ticket to the Division Series against the Atlanta Braves. Jimmy Grubbs, on the mound, was masterful—seven scoreless innings, seven strikeouts, and a performance that left the Dodgers swinging at shadows. Giampietro Orlando, who has been the story of this Wild Card Series, continued to shine, with two home runs and three RBIs, asserting himself as the series MVP.
For the Dodgers, the narrative is becoming all too familiar. Great teams, remarkable regular seasons, roster talent across the board… and yet, in the crucible of the postseason, the wins and losses seem to slip through their fingers. D. van Meel pitched admirably, going eight innings, but the Dodgers could not manufacture a timely hit when it mattered most.
And so, once again, the Dodgers are left to reflect on what might have been, while the Diamondbacks move on, full of confidence and momentum. For Los Angeles fans, it’s another bittersweet October: the hope, the promise, the dream… just out of reach. Baseball, after all, has a way of humbling even the most storied franchises.

[jg2977]

Tonight in Kansas City, baseball reminded us yet again of its capricious beauty. The Kansas City Royals, under the bright lights of Kauffman Stadium, closed out a hard-fought Wild Card Series with a 7-6 win over the Oakland Athletics, taking the series two games to one.
It was a contest that had the feel of October in every pitch, every swing. For Oakland, there were flashes of brilliance—D. Berthiaume with two towering home runs, G. Meyer driving in four—but in the end, the Royals’ resilience prevailed. Oscar Vargas, a man seemingly born for moments like this, led the charge, collecting three RBIs, two homers, and the series MVP honor.
Kansas City executed when it mattered, capitalizing on the smallest of margins, while the Athletics found themselves just a step behind. The game swung like a pendulum, and yet the Royals were the ones left standing, poised now to face the New York Yankees in the Division Series.
For Oakland, it’s the kind of loss that stings not because they lacked effort, but because in baseball, effort alone sometimes isn’t enough. And for the Royals, it’s a night of celebration, of vindication, of moving forward—with all the uncertainty and promise that postseason baseball brings. In this game, as in so many, the drama was in the details—and tonight, Kansas City had them all.

[jg2977]

It was one of those crisp October afternoons in Queens — the kind where you can feel the electricity in the air before the first pitch is even thrown. The New York Mets, their dynasty suddenly in question, facing elimination at home. The Cincinnati Reds, scrappy and determined, hoping to author the kind of October upset that echoes through baseball history.
But by the time the shadows stretched across Citi Field, the story had already been written — emphatically — in blue and orange.
The Mets didn’t just win Game 3 of the Wild Card Series. They reclaimed their identity. An 11–1 rout that left no doubt, a thunderous statement that the three-time defending champions still have some October magic left in them.
Bobby Colon, the veteran right-hander, was in complete command — seven and two-thirds innings of precision and poise, allowing just a single run on six hits. And on offense, it was a cavalcade of contributions. Jace Stacks set the tone at the top with three hits and two RBIs. R. Contreras launched a solo home run early to give the Mets the lead they’d never surrender. And in the seventh inning, the floodgates opened — seven runs that turned a tight contest into a coronation.
At the center of it all was Elijah Worboys, the steady, quietly brilliant third baseman who seemed to embody everything this Mets run has been about. He capped off a stellar series with a home run, two RBIs, and the MVP trophy to match — five hits in the three games, batting .500, driving in five, scoring three.
For Cincinnati, it was a valiant effort. A young team that flashed potential but ultimately ran into a club that, when locked in, still looks every bit the October powerhouse.
And so the Mets move on — to face the Milwaukee Brewers, the top seed in baseball. A new challenge awaits. But for now, the faithful at Citi Field can exhale. The dynasty breathes on, the magic lingers, and on this cool October evening in 1924, New York once again belongs to the Mets.
As I’ve said so many times over the years — baseball, at its best, isn’t just a game of numbers and box scores. It’s a story. And today, in Queens, that story was one of renewal, resilience, and the relentless heartbeat of champions.

[jg2977]

.

[jg2977]

..

[jg2977]

...

[jg2977]

1924 League Division Series

[jg2977]

Top AL Seeds

[jg2977]

Mike: ALRIGHT! DOG—YOU SEE THIS GAME?! THE YANKS TAKE GAME ONE, 8–6, OVER KANSAS CITY! And lemme tell ya somethin’, this lineup—Mike Lord—this guy was everywhere today. Three hits, three runs scored, a double, runnin’ the bases like it’s 1910! The man looked like he had rockets in his shoes!
Dog: Mikey, Mikey, Mikey! He was terrific. No question. Mike Lord—tremendous game. But the big at-bat, the one that broke Kansas City’s back—Andy Miller. Two outs, bottom of the fifth, two on, two out, BOOM! Double into the gap in right, two runs in, 7–2 Yankees! That was the ballgame right there.
Mike: Couldn’t agree more, Dog. And listen—this is what championship teams do. You got the Royals hangin’ around, you got ‘em feeling good about themselves, they’re down a run or two, and then the Yankees drop the hammer. That’s vintage Bronx baseball right there.
Dog: But lemme say this, Mikey—Kansas City did not quit. They had fourteen hits! FOURTEEN! They out-hit the Yankees! You can’t strand that many runners in the postseason! You gotta cash in! You can’t be leavin’ Vargas and Martinez on base every inning and expect to win in the Bronx.
Mike: Totally fair. Totally fair. But that’s the difference, right? The Yankees finish. Mike Lord sets the tone, S. Kim—tremendous day, triple, double, two RBIs—and the bullpen, not great, but they held it together. Schoeppen gave up the two-run shot to Wilson in the eighth, but that was window dressing. The Yankees were never really in trouble.
Dog: Jenkins, by the way, solid enough. Seven innings, ten hits, four runs, not perfect, but you take it. He gave ‘em length. And that’s what matters! In a five-game series, you get your starter through seven, you’re in great shape.
Mike: Right, you keep that bullpen fresh. And you know, Dog, if the Royals don’t figure out how to pitch in this ballpark—forget it. You can’t give up this many doubles to the Yankees. Six extra-base hits today. SIX! You’re not winning like that in Yankee Stadium.
Dog: Absolutely, Mikey. Absolutely. Yankees up one-nothing, they’re at home again tomorrow. You win that, you’re up two-zip heading to Kansas City. You can basically book your ticket to the ALCS.
Mike: Book it, Dog! Book it! Yankees lookin’ like the Bronx Bombers again, the crowd’s fired up, the bats are alive, and the pinstripes are one step closer to another October run.
Dog: Mike Lord—my player of the game. Guy looked like Lou Gehrig out there!
Mike: I’ll give ya that one, Dog. Mike Lord—Lord of the Bronx today!
Dog: HA! Lord of the Bronx! That’s a good one, Mikey!
Mike: Don’t forget it, Dog—Yankees 8, Royals 6. They take Game 1. We’ll see if Kansas City’s got any fight left tomorrow.
Dog: Yeah, they better, or this series is gonna be over fast.
Mike: Stick around, folks—we got more postgame talk comin’ up. Yankees take Game One! Stay tuned!

[jg2977]

From a crisp, cool October afternoon at Jacobs Field — the leaves beginning to turn, the air just a touch thinner, and the sound of wood meeting leather echoing like a hymn to autumn — baseball, once again, finds its moment.
The Cleveland Indians, a team that has lived in the long shadow of the mighty Yankees all season, began their Division Series with a come-from-behind win over the visiting Texas Rangers, 9 to 6. It was a game that began as a slugfest, and ended as a reminder — that October baseball is about resilience, not perfection.
The Rangers jumped ahead early, four runs in the first two innings, sparked by Danny Martinez and Tony Guerrero — the latter collecting three hits and driving in four. By the middle innings, Cleveland starter Mike Niccolai was on the ropes, and the Rangers seemed ready to steal one on the road.
But baseball, as it so often does, turned on a moment. Or perhaps, on a man.
Pat Kresse — the Indians’ left fielder, unheralded by national acclaim — hit not one, but two home runs, and later swiped a base for good measure. His swing, compact and confident, lifted Cleveland each time the crowd began to exhale.
And then, in the seventh — with the game teetering at 6–5 in favor of Texas — came Roberto López. Two outs, one man on, and a tension you could almost feel in your chest. López turned on a pitch from reliever T. White and sent it soaring into the twilight over right field. A two-run shot. Cleveland 7, Texas 6. Jacobs Field erupted.
From there, the Indians bullpen — the tandem of E. and L. García, no relation — shut the door, combining for three and a third innings of hitless baseball.
Ryan Phipps added a solo blast in the eighth, just for punctuation. And as the final out settled into Willie Cobos’ glove, 36,127 fans stood and roared, knowing they had witnessed something of both grit and grace.
Pat Kresse was named Player of the Game, his performance a postcard from the heart of postseason baseball — the kind of day every kid dreams of, and few ever live.
So the Indians, with their 1–0 lead, now look ahead to Game Two. The Rangers, who hit the ball hard but couldn’t hold the lead, will try to steady themselves and even the series before the scene shifts to Arlington.
But tonight in Cleveland, as the lights cool and the wind sweeps across Lake Erie, the feeling is unmistakable — October belongs, at least for now, to the Tribe.
This is Bob Costas, at Jacobs Field, where baseball’s enduring drama continues — one inning, one swing, one heartbeat at a time.

[jg2977]

NL Top Seeds

[jg2977]

On a mild October afternoon in Atlanta, the postseason curtain rose on a matchup between two teams separated by nearly everything — geography, payroll, and pedigree — but united, at least for one day, by baseball’s timeless truth: October belongs to those who execute.
At Truist Park, it was the Arizona Diamondbacks — yes, those upstart desert snakes — who silenced a sold-out Atlanta crowd with a 4–0 victory in Game 1 of the Division Series. Behind the calm precision of their left-hander, Tony Calderón, Arizona played the kind of game that doesn’t so much overwhelm as it quietly suffocates an opponent.
Calderón was masterful — 6⅔ innings of shutout baseball, four hits, three walks, five strikeouts, and not once did the Braves mount more than a whisper of a threat. Every time Atlanta flirted with momentum, Calderón extinguished it. It was the sort of performance that managers cherish, and opponents dread: efficient, unflappable, and ruthlessly effective.
Meanwhile, the Arizona offense didn’t explode — it accumulated.
Phil Jackson set the tone at the top of the order, collecting four hits and stealing two bases, the kind of gritty leadoff work that keeps the line moving. In the third, Kevin Ramirez laced a sharp single to right that stretched the lead to 3–0, and though there were no towering home runs or grand slams, every run felt weighted — deliberate — like a craftsman carving his mark into October.
The Braves, on the other hand, could never find theirs. For all their power and pedigree — and for a team returning to the postseason for the first time since 1913 — Atlanta simply looked tight. R. García battled through seven innings but was tagged for four earned runs on ten hits. The bats behind him, so potent in the summer, were muted by fall’s first chill.
By the time reliever G. Whaley recorded the final out, preserving Arizona’s combined four-hit shutout, 40,000 Braves fans sat quietly, perhaps recalling that old adage: postseason baseball has no respect for regular-season reputations.
Tony Calderón was the clear Player of the Game, but really, this was a collective effort — a team from the desert bringing cool precision to the heart of the South.
Tomorrow, the Braves will have to rediscover their fire. Because tonight, as the sun sets behind the stands and that gentle Georgia breeze drifts across the diamond, it is Arizona — improbably, assuredly — that holds the upper hand.
This is Bob Costas, from Truist Park in Atlanta — where the beauty of baseball, as ever, lies not just in who wins, but in how they do it.

[jg2977]

There’s something about October baseball in Milwaukee. The crisp air, the echo of the crowd beneath the closed roof of American Family Field, and that unmistakable hum of anticipation — the kind that reminds you that every pitch, every swing, every glance toward the dugout carries just a little more weight than it did in July.
On this autumn afternoon, it was the veteran who set the tone.
Thirty-four-year-old Rich Alvarado — the Brewers’ old pro, the steady hand amid the postseason storm — turned back the clock and turned away the New York Mets. Seven innings, four hits, eight strikeouts, and the kind of unflappable composure that can only be forged through years of trial, triumph, and the occasional heartbreak that baseball inevitably provides.
The Brewers took Game 1 of this Division Series, 4–2, and they did it the way playoff teams so often do — with timely power and airtight pitching. Brad Busby, the shortstop with a knack for the dramatic, delivered the moment of the afternoon in the seventh inning — a two-run homer that seemed to hang in the air just long enough for 47,000 fans to rise in unison before erupting as it cleared the wall in left.
Milwaukee had taken the lead for good, and from there, it was all about sealing the deal.
Closer Joe Clay, cool and clinical, recorded the final six outs to preserve the win.
For the Mets, the story was one of missed chances and flashes of what might’ve been.
S. Pepper’s two-run homer in the fifth — a towering shot off Alvarado with two outs — briefly gave New York life, a reminder that this is still a team that’s known how to rise in October. But the bats went silent after that. Just six hits on the day, a lineup that looked, for the first time in years, just a touch uncertain.
And maybe that’s the story for now. The three-time defending champions — the dynasty of the decade — meeting an opponent that refuses to be overawed by history.
For the Brewers, this was a game steeped in efficiency. Eight hits, no errors, and an unwavering belief in the man on the mound. For the Mets, it was a reminder that in October, reputation means nothing — only results.
So as the sun dipped below the Milwaukee skyline, one could almost feel the narrative forming:
A veteran pitcher defying time. A rising team believing that this could be their year.
And a dynasty suddenly standing on uneasy ground.
Tomorrow, they’ll do it again. Same field, same stakes — but now, a different kind of pressure.
From American Family Field, this is Bob Costas… where autumn has once again become baseball’s finest hour.

[jg2977]

October 13, 1924 – Yankee Stadium, New York City
On a crisp autumn afternoon in the Bronx — the kind of day that smells like roasted peanuts, leather gloves, and October dreams — the Kansas City Royals evened the American League Division Series with an 8–3 victory over the New York Yankees.
It was a game that belonged to Luis Arriaga, the steady right-hander who, for six innings, quieted both the Yankee bats and the murmuring of 44,000 restless fans packed into Yankee Stadium. Arriaga wasn’t overpowering, but he was resolute — mixing fastballs and changeups, painting the corners, and trusting his defense. He left with the kind of line that every postseason pitcher craves: six innings, one run, and a whole lot of belief from his teammates.
And then there was Israel Martinez. In the fourth inning, with one on and one out, he caught a Steven Janczak fastball that simply refused to stay in the ballpark — a two-run shot to deep left that put Kansas City ahead for good. Martinez’s swing wasn’t just a home run — it was a statement, punctuating a five-run inning that silenced the crowd and reminded everyone that these Royals, though often unassuming, can hit like thunder when the moment demands it.
Janczak, the Yankee starter, had no answers. In just over three innings, Kansas City strung together double after double, triple after triple — manufacturing runs the way championship teams do in October. By the time the fourth inning ended, the Yankees trailed 6–0, their ace on the ropes, their fans uneasy.
For New York, the offense arrived too late. A scattering of hits in the sixth, and then two runs in the ninth — moments of pride, but not of consequence. S. Kim’s RBI single in the sixth and a late double from A. Miller provided glimmers, but by then, the Royals’ bullpen — capped by three steady innings from F. Díaz — had the game firmly in hand.
There’s a certain poetry to October baseball: one night, a team looks unstoppable; the next, human. The Yankees had dominated Game 1. But on this Monday afternoon, the Royals wrote a different verse — a game of balance, grit, and timely power.
And so the series moves west, to Kansas City — to the rolling hills and the fountains of Kauffman Stadium — tied at one game apiece. Wednesday night will bring its own tension, its own heroes. But for now, the Royals can savor a simple truth: they came into Yankee Stadium and punched back.
Final score from New York: Royals 8, Yankees 3.
Luis Arriaga — the winning pitcher, and tonight, the quiet hero of Kansas City.

[jg2977]

“Well, a pleasant good afternoon to you — wherever you may be.”
And on this cool, breezy day by Lake Erie, the Cleveland Indians took one more step toward the League Championship Series, taming the Texas Rangers by a score of five to one. The story of the day — a right-hander named Marco Tolo, who had the Rangers tied up like a lasso on the prairie.
For seven innings, Tolo was the picture of calm — deliberate, unhurried, painting corners the way a great artist shades light and shadow. Just eighty-four pitches. Two hits. One lonely run. And that was it. The kind of performance that makes you believe baseball, for all its noise and flash, is still a game of quiet precision.
The afternoon began with a flash of thunder. In the bottom of the first, Rico Phipps — strong, square-shouldered, with that easy left-handed power — launched a fastball into the cool Cleveland air. It landed in the right-field seats with a thud, giving the Indians a 1–0 lead they would never surrender. You could almost hear the sigh from the Rangers’ dugout — one inning in, and Tolo had all the run support he’d need.
Texas managed just one moment of life in the third. Ricky Ruggeri, the Rangers’ third baseman, caught a hanging curveball and sent it deep to left for a solo home run. For a brief moment, it was 1–1 — but that tie didn’t last long.
Cleveland struck back in the fifth. With two men aboard, J. Satiago lined a double off the wall in right-center, bringing home a pair and sending the crowd of over 36,000 into a roar that seemed to roll right across the lake. From that point on, the game had a rhythm — slow, steady, inevitable.
By the sixth, a ringing double from Z. Eneki. In the seventh, a triple from Pat Kresse. And by the eighth, Willie Cobos added a double of his own. Every inning, it seemed, another Cleveland batter found the barrel, another cheer rippled through the stands, another nail was driven gently into the Texas coffin.
S. Aniello, the Rangers’ starter, fought hard — but the Indians just kept finding the gaps. By the time the bullpen came in, Cleveland led 5–1, and Tolo’s masterpiece was nearly complete.
You could almost feel the sun dipping behind the left-field bleachers as Tolo walked off the mound in the seventh — cap slightly tilted, the faintest grin on his face. The crowd rose, as Cleveland crowds have done for a century, to tip their caps to pitching artistry.
The bullpen took care of the rest. A clean eighth. A quiet ninth. And when the final out nestled into Cobos’ glove, the scoreboard told the tale: Indians 5, Rangers 1.
As the fans filed out into the autumn evening — the smell of popcorn still hanging in the cool Ohio air — you couldn’t help but think: baseball can still be beautiful in its simplicity.
So the Indians head to Arlington with a two-games-to-none lead — and the Rangers, well, they’ll have to find some Texas-sized magic back home.
This is Vin Scully, saying good afternoon from Jacobs Field — where the wind blew out to left, but the Indians blew right past the Rangers.

[jg2977]

Alright, LISTEN to me now, folks — I’ve SEEN a lot of postseason baseball in my life, but what the Braves did tonight? EMBARRASSING! Absolutely EMBARRASSING!
You win ninety-six games — second best record in the National League! You’ve got a bye, you’re rested, Truist Park is ROCKIN’, and what do you do? You come out, you get steamrolled — by the ARIZONA DIAMONDBACKS, who won eighty-five games! EIGHTY-FIVE! Mediocre team! Barely over .500! And they come into YOUR ballpark and shove it right down your throat!
Let’s go through it — FOUR runs in the first inning! Four! The Braves didn’t even get a chance to take a breath, and they’re already down 4–0. You can’t do that! You CANNOT do that at home in the postseason. Rodrigo Guerrero — oh my goodness gracious, WHAT was THAT? Eleven strikeouts, yeah, yeah, fine, great. You also gave up five runs! The guy looked like he was throwing batting practice in the first!
And give Arizona credit — I’ll give ‘em their due. Gustavo Bojorquez? That kid was nails. SEVEN innings, two runs, pounding the zone, working fast, confident. Didn’t get rattled by the crowd, didn’t blink. That’s postseason poise right there! Tony Flores — two-out double in the seventh, THAT was the dagger. Clutch hit! And the Braves bullpen? Tony Escamilla — you come in, two outs, man on, and you serve up a rocket? COME ON! That’s how you LOSE series!
You’ve got R. Guerrero giving up bombs, Escamilla giving up doubles, and meanwhile, you’ve got Tony Kelley stealing bases like it’s 1920, José González getting on base, and Kevin Ramírez going deep in the FIRST inning to set the tone. That’s championship baseball right there.
The Braves lineup — I don’t even know what to say. You got nine hits, but it was empty calories. A couple doubles, a sac fly, that’s it. A. Fernández — a zero at the plate. Zip. Zilch. The heart of the order went missing in action.
Arizona’s up two games to none, heading home to Chase Field, where that crowd is gonna be foaming at the mouth. You think the Braves are coming back from that? Forget it. You can pack the bags, go home, call your travel agent. This series is O-V-E-R.
And by the way, Atlanta fans — stop with the excuses! “Oh, it’s early, we’ll be fine.” No, you won’t! You’ve scored THREE runs in TWO games at home! That’s a joke!
I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t wanna hear about rest, rust, the bye — NO! You show up, you play ball. Arizona came to win, and Atlanta came to watch. And that’s the difference!
So now, the Diamondbacks — yes, the Arizona Diamondbacks! — are one game away from the NLCS. Unbelievable.
I’m telling you, folks, this is why we love baseball — because sometimes the underdog walks into your building and punches you right in the mouth. And right now, Atlanta? You’ve been knocked out cold.
— MAD DOG out! 🐶💥